


Skin, Heat; Soonhoon

by kwanies



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Oneshot, Soonhoon - Freeform, is this fluff ??? i don't know oops, they're still idols in this but i wouldn't call it canon-compliant, uhhh the others show up but they're very much in the bg sorry!!, why am i the Worst at tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 21:52:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16879896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwanies/pseuds/kwanies
Summary: "Soonyoung, who’s touchy by nature and is so affectionate with the others you’d think it’s almost instinct. It’s no surprise that Jihoon was going to be a target at some point - what was surprising was his reaction; how he gasped and shoved Soonyoung away reflexively, shuddering and mumbling some lame excuse about hating skinship."In which Jihoon can hear music every time he comes into contact with someone, and there's just something about Soonyoung that manages to throw him off completely.





	Skin, Heat; Soonhoon

**Author's Note:**

> hello!!! really quickly i'd like to mention that this idea was given to me by palmfairy1122 \- it was so so lovely and interesting and i had so much fun writing it so !! thank you !! you're the best :') <3
> 
> title comes from intertwined by dodie bc i listened to it a lot while writing this ;(
> 
> i also feel like i haven't posted anything in forever and i,,, really miss it skdkfllk so i'm Excited to get this out
> 
> i hope you all like it ! <3
> 
> (i also apologize for any and all mistakes !! i proofread it but i wouldn't be surprised if i missed a few things oops)

**JIHOON THINKS HE** can remember the first time it ever happened - thinks it felt sort of shocking, like waking up to ice-cold water being thrown over his whole body. Something he’d never experienced before.

Because he’s used to it, at this point, having to push people away gently when they get too close; any accidental brush of skin has the potential to bring a screaming orchestra with it, and Jihoon simply doesn’t take the risk. He strays from hugs and hand-holding. Avoids physicality when he can. He’s _used_ to that, he’s made it a habit, and he’s used to what happens when he fails to do so.

But nothing could have prepared him for what Soonyoung stirred up inside him.

Soonyoung, who’s touchy by nature and is so affectionate with the others you’d think it’s almost instinct. It’s no surprise that Jihoon was going to be a target at _some_ point - what was surprising was his reaction; how he gasped and shoved Soonyoung away reflexively, shuddering and mumbling some lame excuse about hating skinship. He remembers Soonyoung’s smile wavering for maybe a second before repairing itself, and how he hesitated before accepting Jihoon’s reasoning.

The incident was forgotten to all except Jihoon; try as he might, he’s never quite managed to shake the symphony that is Kwon Soonyoung, and no one knows that. Jihoon would sooner cease to exist than tell someone all that.

No, no. He’ll just carry on doing his best to steer clear of Soonyoung and his grabby hands - even if it is terribly difficult.

 

—

 

“Come on,” Soonyoung whispers to him, “how is this not okay?” His voice is low enough so that no one but the two of them can hear, and Jihoon flinches a little at the feeling of warm breath fanning his cheek.

He’d tried slinging an arm around Jihoon’s shoulder, which Jihoon immediately (not-so-subtly) removed, schooling his expression to remain neutral. The wave of instrumentals rising at the back of his head died down and subsequently rose once more when Soonyoung tried _again_ \- and that time, Jihoon pinched his side. He stopped, and so did the music.

And how is it not okay?

“It’s just not,” he breathes. “I don’t like it.”

“Why? You’re fine when Jeonghan touches you.” And that’s something Jihoon can’t really argue with. Or, he _can_ , but not without sounding insane.

See, the thing is, Jeonghan sounds so _different_ to Soonyoung. He sounds different to a lot of people, and that’s something Jihoon’s encountered a few times. Someone who can lay a hand on him and not cause a head-splitting migraine; someone who sounds almost soft, kind, like clouds over flower beds. Jeonghan, infamous for his sometimes-overbearing affection, can rest his head on Jihoon’s shoulder or pull him into a hug and it’ll sound like Michelangelo in watercolor. Like piano keys echoing off glass. Seungcheol’s similar in that sense - in that, Jihoon can get close to both of them, and not be bothered.

Soonyoung’s not like that, though. And how can Jihoon explain it?

He can’t, so he doesn’t.

 

—

 

Some people - not including Soonyoung - are complete _opposites_ of Jeonghan. Which isn’t to say they sound bad, necessarily, but good _God_ can they do a number on Jihoon’s eardrums. Like, well. Like Seokmin.

Seokmin doesn’t get particularly touchy with Jihoon, but there have been times where maybe he sat too close to him on the couch, or passed by and their arms brushed, and he’s always been scarily overwhelming. Like deep, thrumming bass notes and some sort of rhythmic drum-beating; like cymbols clashing and bursts of red laughter, vibrant colors splitting at the seams. Too much, too loud, all at once and continuous. It tends to crash over Jihoon like a tidal wave of noise, drowning him and making it hard to breathe.

Or then there’s Seungkwan; the pitched sounds of balloons full of paint popping, splattering falsetto blues and low, heavy pinks all over a clean wall. Like cheerful, but boisterous, and way too blinding. He hugged Jihoon tight once, and the latter was left seeing hospital-room white for a good three minutes after.

So, yeah. Jihoon tries to put some distance between himself and those two, as much as he may love them. Soonyoung, at least, isn’t _that_ bad.

Jihoon just can’t really put a finger on what he is at all.

 

—

 

Sometimes, Jihoon just likes to sit and listen to himself.

When everyone else is out, and there’s no one to come into contact with and no background noise to take up space in his head, he’ll lay down and just listen. His own breathing, his heartbeat. The sound his throat makes when he swallows.

And in the distant recesses of his mind, just faintly, there’ll be a soft humming. The wind strumming guitar strings, water lapping against sand. Just so _gentle_ and not quite musical, but music nonetheless. Like the world working with itself to make something pretty; something beautiful.

That’s the sound of himself, it’s all that he is.

 

—

 

Soonyoung’s soft-hearted and fond, this Jihoon knows. He likes feeling the warmth of another person’s touch and confident, squeeze-the-life-out-of-you hugs; he likes comfort in the form of physicality. Jihoon knows that, too.

What he’s never known before, never really known himself capable of feeling, is _wanting_ all that; Jihoon’s spent so much time avoiding the boy, and now he finds himself craving that contact - if only a little. It’s not something he’s ever really felt before. He’s not sure what to do about it.

Maybe it has something to do with the way Soonyoung looks at him, how his eyes cloud over with some sullen curiosity every time Jihoon flinches away from him. One might think his feelings are a little hurt, and wouldn’t that mean he cares?

Jihoon finds the idea of Soonyoung caring about him kind of nice, and the realization startles him.

“You’re kind of the worst,” Soonyoung says one day, and he’s not doing anything to keep his voice down.

“How?”

“Like, you never let me hug you, or even just lean on you a little. _Never_.”

“Correct.”

“All I want is a little love, is that too much to ask? You’re killing me, here.”

Jihoon turns his gaze over to Soonyoung, deadpan. He’s on the couch, pressed up against the armrest, and Soonyoung sits at the opposite end. The latter keeps his tone light, joking, but even over the space between them Jihoon can see it; offense is painted in knit eyebrows and a tight smile. He can’t help snickering a little.

“What’s so funny?”

“Just, you.”

“I’m suffering, and you have the nerve to _laugh_ at me - “

“Don’t take it personally,” Seungcheol interrupts, also grinning - Jihoon had almost forgotten he was still in the room.  “You know he doesn’t mean any harm.”

“Easy for you to say! He doesn’t push you away every time you so much as breathe on him.” Soonyoung’s full-on, blatantly pouting at this point, and Jihoon is finding the scene funnier and funnier with every second that passes.

And maybe, _maybe_ a small part of him is acutely aware of the beating in his chest, how it’s magnified.

When Jihoon still fails to offer some sort of response, falling back into a fit of giggles, Soonyoung scowls. There’s an odd determination lining his features, all lit up in his eyes, and Jihoon calms himself down just enough to make it out when he speaks.

“Mark my words, Lee Jihoon, one of these days I’m going to get you.”

“Jesus, are you threatening me?” Jihoon half-laughs, half-whines, wiping his eye. “Try to sound more ominous, Soonyoung, please.”

“I’m just saying, it’ll happen. I don’t know how or when, but I will love you, Jihoon, and you _will_ accept it.”

“Alright, please calm down.”

Soonyoung grins suddenly, that bright smile of his twitching to life, and Jihoon’s breath catches in his throat. He knows it’s nothing to be taken seriously, but Soonyoung letting the word _love_ drop so casually, so close to his name - it makes him itch all over. The room is suddenly too stuffy and his skin is too tight and he can feel his pulse hammering just beneath it, and he’s half-tempted to claw himself apart just to make some room. It’s a horrifying feeling, whatever it is.

When Soonyoung passes him later that evening, with his sly smile and fingers just _barely_ brushing his own, it’s the first time Jihoon’s felt anything other than the urge to shrink away; he almost wants to lean in. Only _almost_ , though.

Soonyoung is still unfamiliar territory, and Jihoon hates not knowing what to expect.

 

—

 

The next few weeks could be described as some level of hell, in their own right.

Because now - well, now, Soonyoung’s being fueled by some awful determination, and Jihoon’s at the point where he doesn’t really know what he wants. Sometimes he thinks he can handle it, that his curiosity has finally outweighed his weird aversion to Soonyoung - but with little space between them, his hands still get clammy and his heart rate still picks up, and he _can’t_. Soonyoung went so far as to squeeze his shoulder once, and he nearly choked on his own breath.

Jihoon still isn’t sure what it is. Mingyu sounds like rattling tambourines and rain against windows, like calm and melancholy; Wonwoo is like muffled piano-playing from underneath a bed of flowers. Even Chan, so young and new and still figuring himself out - Chan carries himself like wind against chimes. But what’s Soonyoung? What does he _sound_ like?

Jihoon can’t say for sure, and that alone is incredibly unnerving.

“You never really told me,” Soonyoung says one afternoon, “why do you hate it so much when I get close to you?” It’s just the two of them, Jihoon sprawled out over his bed and Soonyoung perched at the foot of it.

“Actually, I have told you - “

“Right, right,” he cuts, “but that thing about you hating skinship is a total lie, so you can drop it.”

Soonyoung’s got this smile on his face, cheerful and light. Jihoon just thinks light smiles are the easiest to blow away, but his glare doesn’t seem to be doing the trick.

“I’m not lying, it’s just - I just don’t like it.”

“Is there something wrong with me?” Soonyoung asks, and he’s frowning, now. “Did I do something to make you mad? I promise, it was probably an accident, I do dumb stuff all the time - “

“It’s not you,” Jihoon lies. “Don’t worry about it so much.”

They’re both quiet for some time, eyes on eyes and ten inches of air between them; Soonyoung moves a bit closer, reaches out an arm to push Jihoon’s shoulder, just lightly. It’s playful and benevolent, and it produces some low, periwinkle tone. Jihoon knows he’s the only one who can hear it.

Instead of moving away, he steels himself. Soonyoung’s already retracted his hand, anyway.

“I just don’t get it,” he says softly. “You don’t mind with certain people.”

“But that’s only certain people,” Jihoon manages. “It’s not like I’m trying to ostracize you.”

“But what makes them different?”

“They’re just - “ he catches himself, swallowing hard. _Not so overwhelming_ , he wants to say. _Familiar. Predictable. I know what to expect._ “Does it matter?” he says instead. “It’s not like you really care that much, anyway. I know it’s probably just a game to you.”

“A game?”

“Yeah. Push past all my boundaries and see how far you can go, just for kicks.”

“That’s not true.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Soonyoung, but somehow I don’t get the impression that you cry yourself to sleep every night purely due to the fact that I don’t want to hold your hand.”

Soonyoung opens his mouth to respond, then seemingly thinks over whatever it is he wants to say, closing it again. He does this once or twice more, his stare unfocusing itself, and Jihoon watches him gape before he finally says, “Well, no. But I think holding your hand would be nice.”

And Jihoon burns, embarrassingly. Turns inexplicably red and stammers, trying (failing) to come up with a retort that will work. Something that will make the situation funny. That’s usually Soonyoung’s job, but right now he doesn’t seem to be joking.

“You think holding anyone’s hand would be nice,” Jihoon finally says, and he hopes Soonyoung doesn’t notice the way it comes out all raspy. “So go on, take anyone who’s willing. I’m not.”

Soonyoung watches him sadly. Jihoon tries to tell himself that this, this is nothing; Soonyoung’s attention is no one’s but his at this moment, and Soonyoung said he thinks holding Jihoon’s hand would be nice. And that’s nothing. It means nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing, he tells himself.

“I meant what I said before,” Soonyoung says quietly. “I know you probably thought I was just kidding, but I want you to be comfortable with me, Jihoon. I’m sorry that I ever did anything to make you feel otherwise.”

It makes Jihoon’s heart ache, it does, the sincerity of his words; like he really is sorry, although he’s got nothing to be sorry for. Jihoon has half a mind to reach out and tell Soonyoung that _no_ , he hasn’t done anything wrong, he’s never done anything wrong - but then he’d have to explain himself, and how can he?

“It’s just skinship,” is all he says. “I think you’re making this out to be a bigger deal than it really is.”

Soonyoung doesn’t say anything in response to that. Jihoon’s washed in guilt, watery beads of thought collecting on his skin and some strange disappointment sitting idly in his chest. He tells himself there’s nothing he can do, and the feeling will pass.

Usually, it does.

 

—

 

Huh. It’s not passing.

Looking at Soonyoung stirs something strange in him - something light and painted a thousand electric colors at once, something stubborn that refuses to die out - and it’s so _different_ to how he used to see the boy. Jihoon remembers thinking, at one point, that Soonyoung is sort of attractive. He remembers finding him funny and kind and delicate but strong, all at once. He remembers thinking Soonyoung is quite _something_.

Oh, but now, what’s changed? Soonyoung’s still something, but is he something different? No, not different. The same, maybe, just a little more than he used to be. Maybe nothing’s changed about Soonyoung at all - maybe Jihoon’s the one who’s changed; because now Jihoon looks at Soonyoung, and he feels panic and aching like mud in his throat. He feels _needy_ \- and Jihoon’s never been that, never.

Maybe Soonyoung’s gotten more handsome. Maybe he’s gotten funnier. Kinder. Still delicate, even stronger.

Jihoon has a feeling that isn’t the case at all. Whatever this is, it lies within him, and only him.

 

—

 

Jihoon’s never been too fond of sightseeing, or even just leaving his home. He likes the confines of his bed, ordering food straight to his room. Lighting as he likes it. Heating as he likes it. No outside disturbances, save for the twelve zoo animals he lives with - and it’s what they are, really, with all their noise. Or maybe that’s just Seokmin singing three rooms down.

Whatever the case - for the first time in what must be a while, Jihoon finds himself wanting to wander. He thinks he’d like to step outside and go someplace, someplace entirely unknown to the world and his heart; someplace beautiful. Maybe an art museum. Does he know of any art museums? No. Has he ever had an interest in the sort? Also no. Ah, but it sounds nice.

To walk down long corridors listening to nothing but the sound of his heels on marble; to look up at tall ceilings with nameless angels painted down the edges, to find company in a gazeless man made of stone who he knows nothing of. Jihoon thinks he could speak, then. He could let the thoughts and emotions and terribly-too-bright images spill from his lips, and they’d find home in the small fibers of a canvas. Then, he thinks, then he’d be free of all that pressure. Someone other than him would bear some of the weight.

“What weight?” Soonyoung asks. His arm is stretched out over a cushion, inviting but not begging. Jihoon doesn’t look at it. He sighs.

“It’s nothing,” he says. “I’m just being dramatic.”

“That’s okay, I don’t judge.”

Jihoon bites back a laugh, knowing there’s no way it wouldn’t come out sharp. “Yeah, well, even so. You’re the last person who should be hearing this.”

“You’re poking the fire, Jihoon.”

“What will you do, burn me?”

He could, really, Jihoon knows he could. Soonyoung looks like a million shades of warm, comfortable to every average touch - but not to Jihoon. Jihoon’s got frozen fingers, pressed purple by winter’s grip and too far gone to know a heat that isn’t searing, and he’ll burn, he knows.

“I wouldn’t,” Soonyoung says, scorching anyways. “But it wouldn’t kill you to let me in.”

“Christ, Soon, how many times do I have to tell you? I’m not locking you out on purpose, I’m just reserved.”

“But you’re _lying_ to me, I know you are! I’m the only one you’re so - so _averse_ to.” Soonyoung watches him with eyebrows pinched and liquid eyes, and Jihoon finds that it’s painful to look at him, so he doesn’t. He can’t plug his ears though, not when Soonyoung adds, quietly, “I don’t even know what I did to deserve it.”

Jihoon isn’t sure there’s anything he can say to make the situation better. There are two options: risk making himself look like a patient right out of an insane asylum - or hurt Soonyoung. He’s not sure which is worse.

“You wanna know about that weight?” he asks, only after the silence stretches on into unbearability. “Because I - I’ll tell you, but you have to promise you won’t laugh.”

“I won’t,” Soonyoung promises, even dragging a finger across his chest. He looks so serious when he does it, Jihoon almost wants to smile.

“Okay, uh - fuck, how am I supposed to say this?”

“Take your time.”

“Stop, you’re pressuring me - it’s like, it’s like … noise? Wait, I’ve never said this out loud before, and I don’t actually know how to explain it - ”

“What sort of noise?” Soonyoung asks, all sorts of calm and patient.

“Noise, like … like when I touch people? Or, when I touch someone, or someone touches me, I can hear … music, sort of. Music and - and colors.”

Jihoon squeezes his eyes shut and waits for it, a snicker or some remark about how he should really get more sleep, but nothing comes. He opens one eye tentatively, and Soonyoung looks curious; he looks like he’s thinking.

“You mean like, synesthesia?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess so.” Jihoon’s pretty sure that’s not it, but it’s the most sane-sounding explanation, and he’ll go with it. Soonyoung seems content, anyway.

“Whoa, for real? How come you’ve never told me? That’s so cool,” he says, getting excited. “What do we sound like? Wait, wait, tell me about Minghao - I bet he’s like - hold up, what do you mean by music? Is it just sounds, or is it like - “

“Minghao’s like electricity,” Jihoon interrupts. “Like, running a current through water. An electric guitar, but sort of bubbly, if that makes sense? No, it probably makes no sense at all - what I mean is, Minghao sounds super invigorating, you know? Like, shocking - but still so gentle, and - _please don’t look at me like that_ ,” Jihoon breathes, grimacing. “I know it sounds stupid.”

Soonyoung seems to be in a daze, silent with his mouth hanging open slightly. He snaps out of it, then, blinking and ruffling his hair a bit before grinning, “No, no. That’s really interesting, Jihoon. Fuck, that’s _so_ interesting.”

“It’s not, really,” Jihoon mumbles, feeling embarrassed.

“Are you kidding? That’s insane, I love that. What about Vernon, what’s he like?”

Jihoon gapes for a moment, not knowing how to start - but he does, eventually. Slowly, the words tumble out; they’re not at all graceful or eloquent, but entrancing enough for Soonyoung, apparently, who’s got his chin in his palm and eyes lighted.

Jihoon tells him how Vernon is white like the sun in spring; how birds and flutes are synonymous, and ringing bells tickle like grass beneath his feet. He’s awkward and stuttering, but Soonyoung’s so sweet, and it isn’t long before Jihoon finds himself weaving through descriptions comfortably.

When Soonyoung asks about Joshua, Jihoon tells him of cotton candy clouds that make timpanis thrum with envy, and the way tulips bleed lilac through the echoing of a cello. Jihoon gives him nature, in all its wild colors and every sound he can think of; sounds he sometimes _dreams_ of. Ethereal sounds, the ones Jihoon distances himself from because sometimes, sometimes they’re too much to take.

“Is it overwhelming?” Soonyoung asks once Jihoon finishes. The latter nods. “Is that why you don’t like being touchy with people?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Some people are okay, though. Like, I don’t break out in a sweat every time they so much as poke me.”

“I’m assuming I’m not one of those people.”

Jihoon watches him steadily, his lower lip caught between his teeth so that, when he speaks, the words come out in a mumble. “I don’t know what you are,” is what he says, and Soonyoung frowns. But it’s the truth - and how can Jihoon help that?

“What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong with you,” Jihoon answers instantly. “Just that, I dunno. I can’t figure you out and - and touching you makes me nervous. My mind responds all weird and it freaks me out.” It’s strange, being this open, and Jihoon’s not sure where the sudden honesty is coming from. Maybe it’s good that he got it out there, though. Maybe now Soonyoung won’t think he hates him so much.

But Soonyoung just stares at him. He doesn’t say a word, only spreads his fingers and jabs Jihoon’s forearm.

“Whoa, what the fuck?” he scowls, snatching his arm away.

“Is that why you hate it when I get close to you? You get scared?”

“Hold on, I never said I was _scared_ \- “

Soonyoung does it again, but this time he places his whole _palm_ against Jihoon’s skin - presses it there for good measure. Jihoon nearly yelps, glaring at the boy and scooting over until he’s on the farthest end of the couch. He’s half hoping one of the others will walk in, just to distract Soonyoung, but no one does. They’re in Jihoon’s studio, after all. No one else has any reason for being here.

“You just need to get used to me,” Soonyoung insists, almost whining. “I’m not scary, I promise.”

“No, Soonyoung - I _know_. God, I know. But I don’t think you understand - ”

“What am I supposed to understand? How else can I interpret this?”

“Are you seriously getting offended? I can’t help if my fucked up synesthesia doesn’t like you.”

“I’m not offended, I just - I mean, I told you already. I just want you to be comfortable with me.” Soonyoung breathes, looking like this means a lot to him, but Jihoon can’t imagine why it would. This is _Jihoon_. It’s only him. What’s there to find meaning in?

Soonyoung continues, “You don’t actually hate me, do you?”

“Of course not.” Jihoon pauses. “And, for the record, I want to be comfortable with you, too. If I could control the way these things make me feel, trust me, I would.”

Soonyoung’s quiet, thinking. Jihoon finds that his arm still kind of tingles where Soonyoung touched him, and there’s a faint reverberation at the back of his head, but it fades to back of his mind when Soonyoung starts, slowly, “Maybe … Maybe you can learn to control it. Like, get used to the feeling.”

“And how would I do that?”

Carefully, reluctantly, Soonyoung moves so that the space between them shrinks. When he lifts his arm, this time, he meets Jihoon’s eye, seeking some sort of approval. Just as carefully and just as reluctantly, Jihoon nods, and he can’t help feeling a bit silly; such a serious moment for something so little. A touch, a caress. What is this, to be so solemn over?

But the soft skin of Soonyoung’s palm meets that of Jihoon’s wrist, sliding along the length of his arm, and Jihoon gets it. It’s not one of those bouncing hugs or quick grips, a firm push on the shoulder when they’re joking around; it’s gentle and sincere and _gosh_ , Jihoon hopes he isn't imagining it. He hopes this means something to Soonyoung, too.

Oh, and then there’s the music, the _feeling_ of it all. The way the sun’s rays send out waves of tender sound, rippling through the air and warming where it touches, and those tiny dandelion seeds whisper kind things along the wind. It lasts for a second, two, three, four - and then Jihoon can feel his heart beating from within his bones and his breath falling short and he. He has to make it _stop_.

“Can you stop?”

Whisper, whispers. This one’s not so confident as those dandelions. It’s more just shaky and brittle.

Soonyoung’s hand is gone in an instant. He’s smiling gentle, just a little. _We’ll get there_ , it seems to say. And Jihoon wants to believe it.

 

—

 

Soonyoung hasn’t given up on his attempts to attach himself to Jihoon - only, he’s holding up a bit. Going easy. Giving Jihoon room to _breathe_ without the feeling of anxiety snaking down his spine. It’s sort of nice, Jihoon finds. He prefers the little things to all those loud endeavours, like when Soonyoung’s thumb finds the back of his hand and bruises it a melodic sort of green, or maybe yellow, and no one else can see it.

He only ever holds it there for a few seconds, no more. It’s considerate, and it makes Jihoon’s heart beat loud in his ears.

A few seconds go by too terribly quick, though, and Jihoon thinks his confidence has been growing, lately.

It’s movie night in their dorm, the thirteen of them piled into a single space and staring at the TV like it’s God himself in their living room. Seungcheol said they needed a night in all together, for bonding? Something like that? Jihoon doesn’t really get it, but he and Soonyoung managed to snag the one couch that can only really fit two people (anyone else would have to sit on the arms), so he won’t complain.

Thing is, there are at least three inches of space between them, which Soonyoung’s probably conscious of, and Jihoon sort of hates it. He knows what happens if he gets too close to the boy, he knows the feeling all too well, all too unpleasant - but the urge to just reach out and _hold_ Soonyoung’s hand is strong. Strong, and unfamiliar. It’s not something Jihoon’s ever really felt before, and he’s not sure if his pulse is stuttering because of it, or because of the way Soonyoung’s face looks all lit up by the glow of the screen. Maybe both?

He thinks taking Soonyoung’s palm in its entirety could very well electrocute him, send his body reeling, but he does it anyway. Hidden beneath the shared blanket between them, Jihoon finds Soonyoung’s fingers and settles his own between them. Maybe this goes beyond regular skinship - Jihoon wouldn’t know for sure, it’s not like he has a ton of experience with the concept - but it feels nice, weirdly. He sort of wants to throw up, but it’s nice.

It starts out with a jolt of electricity, something buzzing through his veins and sparking at every nerve-ending. His whole body is awake, but not at the same time - too alive, but too disconnected from everything. All he feels is Soonyoung’s pulse between their palms, all he _hears_ is Soonyoung.

Soonyoung sounds like pencil on paper, like love letters being written. He sounds like the soft purring a cat makes when it’s happy, and the gleam in its eyes when it gets excited. Like rain on water lilies and tadpoles swimming underneath. He sounds like the world and everything in it, everything pretty and natural occurring all at once. It’s clear, then, so in-your-face obvious that Jihoon wants to kick himself for not getting it earlier - Soonyoung doesn’t sound like music, not really. There’s no instruments or notes to be followed, just things and things and things that sound wonderful, things that blend with the background but add all the character to a scene.

Soonyoung sounds like _Jihoon_. And Jihoon’s never met someone who sounds like him before.

Jihoon feels like he’s drowning at the realization. His mind’s tearing, stretching itself into a hundred different directions, trying to comprehend a hundred different questions, and he almost forgets to how to breathe. It isn’t until he feels someone shaking him that he comes into contact with his own body - his eyes are squeezed shut, so tight he’s seeing spots against the black, and he tries to relax when he opens them.

“Jihoon? Jihoon, hey. You okay?” Soonyoung asks, voice all soft and concerned. Jihoon just stares at him blankly, and when he doesn’t respond, Soonyoung smiles awkwardly. He whispers, “Er, you’re squeezing my hand really hard. It kind of hurts.”

“Huh? Oh, sorry.”

Jihoon lets his grip relax, hopes Soonyoung doesn’t notice how sweaty his palm is.

The film is still playing, and it sounds like static mingling with their surroundings. Jihoon thinks he can make out Seungkwan and Chan bickering about something. No one else has noticed him, or them; it’s just Soonyoung’s gaze on Jihoon and Jihoon’s gaze on Soonyoung. Just _them_.

“Everything alright?” Soonyoung asks, and Jihoon _hates_ how his heart tugs at the boy’s worried tone. “Is it too much?” Jihoon could laugh. He’s half-sure that Soonyoung hasn’t even entirely comprehended what he was told all those days ago, but he’s taking it so seriously - so kind, so endearing. Jihoon’s not sure what he’s done to deserve someone like Soonyoung.

“I’m - I’m fine,” he breathes. “Just, uh. Got a little overwhelmed.”

Soonyoung nods like he understands - does he? - but neither one of them moves. Jihoon tries to even his breathing, focus on the way it feels to have Soonyoung’s thumb rubbing his knuckles and how each curve of each movement sounds like a winding path, or water seeping into soil. No pianos, no guitars or bongos or those awful trombones that blow his eardrums out; just Soonyoung.

“I like this,” Jihoon finds himself mumbling before he can stop himself. “Like, I’m trying really hard not to let my brain go into overdrive right now - if it does, I might literally have a seizure - but you sound so … I don’t know. I just like it a lot.”

Soonyoung’s eyes could be street lamps, but like the bulbs have been replaced with stars, all focused and bright and channeling all sorts of energy straight to Jihoon. He starts to say something, but breaks off when Jeonghan’s voice reaches them.

“What are you guys talking about?”

Jihoon turns his head to face the others, who are now focused on them rather than the movie. He gapes, not knowing what to say, but exhales relievedly when Soonyoung speaks up, instead.

“I was going to make myself another cup of tea, I thought Jihoon might want one, too. You said yes, right?” Soonyoung looks at him, then, with a smile to sell the act, and Jihoon nods. It’s all he can do; if he were to say something, his voice might crack. Their hands are still clasped.

But maybe that little fact managed to escape Soonyoung’s notice, because he stands up then with the intention of getting them both tea, and the blanket falls from his lap. And their hands, _still clasped_ , are in full view of everyone in the room. Nice, okay, yeah. That’s fine.

Except, not really, because Jihoon can only lower his head against his shoulder and purse his lips while the rest try (and fail) to hold back their snickers. Jeonghan’s got this smirk on his face, Seungcheol’s brows are raised, and Soonyoung’s _grinning_ \- like this is the funniest thing in the world. Jihoon’s body feels like a furnace, the sound of Soonyoung’s hold turning to that of a campfire gone wrong. Maybe Jihoon wants to die a little bit, but he knows he can’t do that. The next best thing would be to leave the room completely.

“I can, uh. I can get my own, thanks.”

Shaking his hand free of Soonyoung’s, he leaves the room and stalks into the kitchen, grimacing at his own embarrassment. He doesn’t have to look to know Soonyoung’s following close behind, probably still smiling like the idiot he is.

Jihoon doesn’t say anything as he puts the kettle on, trying to convince himself that his face is red from the steam that hasn’t even risen yet, and it’s Soonyoung who speaks.

“You’re really cute when you get flustered, you know.”

“I swear to God, I will pour boiling hot water all over you.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, shrugging sheepishly. “I’m sorry about that. I like, forgot we were holding hands.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell.”

Jihoon’s still scowling as he pours water into their respective mugs, but Soonyoung’s smile is shy and his cheeks are dusted something rosy, even the tip of his nose, and he has to ask, “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Soonyoung mumbles, and Jihoon can’t tell if he’s acting bashful on purpose or if that’s just the way he is. “Just, we held hands.”

Jihoon wants to sink into himself, the heat of it all. His eyes are fixed in a glare, but he’s not upset, not really - how can he be? This is Soonyoung, bright and wonderful Soonyoung who’s getting shy over the fact that they held hands, and Jihoon could never _really_ be upset with him. Not when his heart is too busy ramming itself against his ribcage.

“Yeah, and?” he breathes.

“And … And it was nice. That’s all.”

“They’re never going to let me live that down,”

“Probably not,” Soonyoung laughs lightly. “But you know they only think it’s cute.”

“No, _you_ think it’s cute. They’re wondering why the fuck I was holding your hand.”

“Well, why _were_ you holding my hand?”

The question catches Jihoon off-guard, as does the genuine curiosity stringing together Soonyoung’s words, and he’s not sure what to tell him. He could be honest. It would sound weird, but it would be honest.

“I just wanted to,” he says quietly.

Jihoon doesn’t think he’s ever seen Soonyoung surprised, but this might be it. His eyebrows are high on his forehead and his lips are parted slightly, like there’s something he wants to say but it got stuck before he could actually say it. In the end, he settles for a soft, “Oh,” and Jihoon is beside himself with emotion.

Soonyoung is too, _too_ cute for his own good, and it’s going to be the death of him.

 

—

 

“Hey, Jihoon?”

“Hm?”

“You never told me what I sound like.”

Jihoon glances at Soonyoung, and immediately regrets it. More and more often it’s getting tough to look directly at him without risking heart palpitations. It’s stupid. No one’s ever had this sort of effect on Jihoon before, and it’s stupid.

“I didn’t? Huh.” Jihoon leaves it there, busying himself by opening up all the cupboards and pretending to look for something to eat. Soonyoung smiles, catching on.

“Come on, you have to tell me.”

“I do?”

“Mm-hmm. For real, I’m curious.” Jihoon’s arm freezes as it’s rifling through the different boxes on the shelf, and he considers his words carefully.

“Just … you sound different. Not like anything I’ve ever heard before.” It’s vague, but it’s the truth. Soonyoung’s response comes whispered with wide eyes, and Jihoon can’t help thinking he looks like a child, all excited and wondering.

“Was it nice?”

“Sure.”

“Pretty?”

“Definitely.”

He seems satisfied with this, shoulders relaxing while a lazy half-smile starts forming on his face - but it freezes, interrupted by the thought of another question, presumably. Jihoon’s finally fished out a box of those Cheez-Its Joshua brought back from his last trip to the States (in bulk - why they needed 50 boxes of salty cheese crackers is _beyond_ Jihoon), and he doesn’t spare Soonyoung one look as he sticks his hand in and starts eating.

He doesn’t want to answer any more questions. He’s only making himself vulnerable. Then again, Soonyoung makes him vulnerable more than anything else.

“Was it scary?” Soonyoung asks, and Jihoon snorts, nearly choking mid-swallow.

“Scary? I’d hardly consider you scary, Soonyoung.”

“I mean, you kind of looked like you were astral projecting, for a second there. Unless you were _that_ happy to be holding my hand, I don’t - “

“It wasn’t scary,” Jihoon interrupts, flushing. “But, well. I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Did it make you feel … I don’t know. Uncomfortable, weird? Like you said it does, sometimes.”

“Uh, kind of made me feel sick. Not in a bad way,” he adds quickly, when Soonyoung’s expression starts to fall. “Just, it was like riding a roller coaster. Or getting hit by a roller coaster? I’m not really sure, but everything came at me all at once. Gave me, like, vertigo, sort of.”

Soonyoung’s quiet for a few moments, then. They both are. There’s nothing but the sound of their breathing and Jihoon’s chewing, although Jihoon thinks he might be able to hear the gears turning in Soonyoung’s head, if he listens hard enough.

Then, ever-so-softly and just as curious, “I wonder what you sound like, Jihoonie.”

Jihoon shrugs, he lies. “Nothing, really.”

“Hm, I doubt it … I wish I could do that. Listen to people like you do, just to see. I bet you’d be wonderful.”

Jihoon feels the heat crawling up his neck, reaching the tips of his ears, and he can’t help the smile forcing itself across his face. His cheeks bunch beneath his eyes, and he _wishes_ he didn’t look so damn happy right now - Soonyoung _can’t_ know what he does to him - but he does, and Soonyoung can see it clear as day.

“Maybe you should lower your expectations,” he mumbles, and Soonyoung rolls his eyes.

Then he leans in, close enough for their foreheads to touch, and Jihoon’s breath hitches. Soonyoung’s gaze is all-too confident, cheeky, and Jihoon knows there’s no way he can mirror the look. There’s a flutter of nerves around his heart and in his stomach; it’s probably showing on his face.

“I don’t think so.”

It’s simple, four syllables for the four beats Jihoon’s heart skips, and their foreheads aren’t touching anymore. Space is restored. Comfortable, responsible space - and Jihoon finds he doesn’t like it so much. Soonyoung’s still smiling, though.

“H-Hey,” he says, and his voice is raspy.

“Yeah?”

“I … It’s nothing. Nevermind.”

Soonyoung looks like he wants to pry, but he doesn’t, and Jihoon’s grateful for that much.

 

—

 

Soonyoung holds his hand a lot now. It’s kind of unbearable, but in the most unbearably wonderful way. Jihoon wants to curl up inside himself when he realizes how much he likes it.

Jihoon feels safest when he’s coiled nice and tight, secure. It’s Soonyoung who makes him unravel.

 

—

 

“I wish I could hear you,” Soonyoung says, and Jihoon begins to wonder why it is that they keep ending up alone together. If the others were around, Soonyoung wouldn’t say stuff like this, all feeling and tender-hearted. Jihoon wouldn’t find himself so weak in the knees as often as he does.

“You’ve mentioned that before.”

“I know, but it’s true.”

Just, breathing. That’s all there is. Breathing, a faint humming as Soonyoung’s fingers brush across his jaw - and _oh_ , that’s different. It’s light and lingers for less than a second, but it’s a world away from hand-holding. Jihoon’s heartbeat stutters, and he can hear some far-away lightning crack when it does. That’s him, not Soonyoung, but Jihoon doesn’t want to listen to himself right now, not really.

“Do that again,” he whispers before he can stop himself. Soonyoung doesn’t question it.

He just reaches out, trailing a soft touch along Jihoon’s cheek and staining it red, like there’s acrylic on his fingertips. Or maybe not acrylic, maybe watercolor, like blurred and pale and - speaking of water, _splashing_. Pinks all across his skin, patches of red, all splashing against him like he’s a blank canvas and Soonyoung is the artist; there’s the sound of bristles on a palette, bristles in a jar of water, Jihoon blooming a hundred different shades of infatuation.

That’s what it has to be, infatuation. When Soonyoung’s fingertips travel over his eyes, his nose, his lips, tangling in his hair - Jihoon’s _infatuated_. When’s the last time he felt that? Pencil sketching and pools of ink so vivid in his ears, and when’s the last time he heard something so lovely?

Jihoon’s not sure when it happens, but he suddenly becomes aware of Soonyoung’s lips on him - the corner of his eye, the tip of his nose, just above his cupid’s bow - and it’s not just the music in Jihoon’s head anymore, it’s _him_ , out loud for Soonyoung and him both to hear.

“I think I might like you.”

“I think I might like you, too,” Soonyoung mumbles, like ripples in a pond.

“I think I like you more than what’s friendly.”

Soonyoung laughs at that, just softly, stopping at his chin. His fingers are at the nape of Jihoon’s neck and playing with the ends of his hair. Funny, Jihoon never thought he’d ever let anyone get this close to him; Soonyoung seems to take _never_ as a challenge, though.

“Do you think anything about this is meant to be friendly?”

Jihoon swallows. “Maybe not.”

They sit still, and Jihoon can feel Soonyoung’s breath along his jaw. It’s wind chimes, it’s a garden in May, like film aesthetics and all kinds of splendid. Jihoon wants to say something, something like _I’ve never let anyone do this, I’ve never wanted someone so close to me, I can’t believe I used to push you away_ \- but Soonyoung doesn’t let him. Soonyoung smiles against him, and he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Jihoon’s heart is beating hard enough to send waves of rhythm throughout his whole body, even pulsing in his throat, but somehow he finds it in him to say, “I think I’d like that, yeah.”

Their lips meet, and Jihoon’s sure of it, convinced.

Soonyoung is poetry, the prettiest kind; he sounds like soft, sublime words on a breeze, ones that blow through grass and send flower petals into a whirl of song. Like birds twittering and laundry hung out to dry and maybe laughing, maybe that short little gasp someone makes when they break into a smile - maybe everything labeled exquisite and even the things that aren’t. Maybe Soonyoung is a rarity, and Jihoon could melt.

Kissing him is terrifying - kissing, that’s terrifying. Open and vulnerable and everything Jihoon’s forced himself to never be. But Soonyoung? Magnificent.

Open, vulnerable, and magnificent.


End file.
